


Salvation

by mothmanaintshit



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Humor, Langst, M/M, Rating May Change, Romance, Secrets, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, avatar AU, background ships still being decided, if you need anything tagged lemme know, klangst, mlm author, tags will be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:50:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmanaintshit/pseuds/mothmanaintshit
Summary: Lance, a self-taught waterbender, had left his home in the Western Air Temple to find a life that could be his and not dictated by what his family needed to be doing every hour of every day. He was the only waterbender amongst over five airbender’s in his family, and still counting. After nearly escaping death on the boat that was to take him to the Southern Water Tribe, he is stranded in Republic City with no way home. During his second week in the city, things take a turn for the worse.Keith, a prodigy firebender and Detective on the Police Force in Republic City, has been spending the last year searching for his brother, Shiro, who was taken during a raid on one of the Galra's ships. His unconventional means for getting things done is catching up with him without Shiro to stand between him and the Chief. After setting up a meeting point with a possible lead on where his brother is, saves the life of who he assumes was the informant. Instead, it's Lance. Lance isn't who he expected, but he knows things he wouldn't have thought possible. While searching for Shiro, the two become closer than expected (not that they're complaining).





	

**Author's Note:**

> i am severely disappointed at the lack of fics involving this au but the amount of fanart this au has. so, im doing myself a fanservice… i think thats the right word. anyways, this is one of many avatar au ideas i have. this is probably just gonna be the longest tho. i hope you all enjoy!! the first chapter probably has some mistakes in it but i gotta get ready for class so hopefully i'll be able to fix them soon!!

Republic City was probably not the, uh… _best_ place to get stranded in when you have no friends, no money, no contacts, no papers and no exceptional talents other than knowing over twenty-three different fighting styles that involved bending; airbending specifically but that’s beside the point.

Lance, a self-taught waterbender, had left his home in the Western Air Temple to find a life that could be his and not dictated by what his family needed to be doing every hour of every day. He was the only waterbender amongst over five airbender’s in his family, and still counting. No one at the Temple was thrilled to see that Lance hadn’t been gifted the wonderful art of bending air, but instead water (something he loved but that didn’t matter). In the beginning, the monks didn’t see it as much of a thing to be saddened by. They needed healers, since most of the healers that lived at the Temple were started to expire, but Lance wasn’t a healer. Instead, he was a nuisance.

If only the monks could understand _why_ Lance was restless in a place he couldn’t get in and out of without a bison or glider, two things he couldn’t use himself because of his lack of bending – on both accounts. And he didn’t want to take his chances climbing ( _again_ ) – he was very happy amongst the land of the living, thank you very much. But that was only one of his issues. The other was a lack of places for _his_ bending. Sure, there were fountains and man-made ponds in his home, but there were no bodies of water that were easy to get to. There was a waterfall hidden deep within the mountain the Temple was carved into but it took a little over an hour to get to. And the only time he’d be able to bend without being disturbed is in the middle of the night while everyone slept and there was little to no lighting underground in the middle of a mountain. Although the monks had slowly allowed the use of lamps and lighting in this temple, there were still many, many places without the steady stream of light. Candles were always an option; but why would he – one of the many people living with lamps – need a useless artifact?

He kinda wanted to punch the monk that sneer at him, smug smile hidden under that weird, smelly, gross beard.

Even so, he forced himself to try it once and couldn’t. The lack of feeling the moon’s light against his flesh, the insubstantial feel of the push and pull of the waves against his thighs, the non-existent calm atmosphere of the night – he **_hated_** it.

He felt a disconnection to his element, to the moon and ocean. He didn’t know if it was the lack of bodied water’s presence in his life or of the constant presence or that he never seen the ocean or felt rain on his skin or the reminder that the Temple wasn’t really a home for him; either way, he needed to leave this place, reconnect with his element, get out before he went crazy and decided to climb up the damn mountain again.

It… was _a lot_ harder than he assumed it would be.

Convincing his family and the monks that it would be a good opportunity for him to learn about his element, and his mother’s side of heritage, took a solid seven months. He’d even recruited his siblings into helping him. They didn’t fully understand Lance’s reasons for wanting to leave, they didn’t understand being disconnected to their element or feeling like they’re missing a part of themselves, but they wanted their brother to be happy so they helped. 

His family found a way to pay for his passage to the Southern Water Tribe – where his mother grew up – but the ship didn’t make it. Mercenaries and two bounty-hunters took over the ship only a few hours after they departed from the docks, looking for a known enemy of the White Lotus. Things became bloody when it turned out half the ship’s occupants were working with the White Lotus’ enemy and conspiring against them. Lance had barely made it out with his life. If he hadn’t been a waterbender, he probably wouldn’t have made it out at all. Though, if he weren’t a waterbender, he wouldn’t have been in that situation to begin with.

Oh, the irony.

Lance made it to the Earth Kingdom border nearly a day later. His clothes were tattered, he was worn out and on the brink of passing out, and all his papers were back on the ship. He’d have to find an Embassy, hopefully get a telegram to his parents or the monks. By the time Lance was able to collect his baring, he’d been able to figure out where he was and he nearly cried in relief.

He’d visited Republic City once before, when he was nine, and he knew there was an embassy. That was all the mattered.

Little did he know that the monks he’d pissed off while living at the Western Air Temple held grudges – something Lance knew monks _weren’t_ supposed to do – and struck him of being part of the Air Nomad society. On the terms of: Choosing the leave the Nation of his own accord.

Simply put: He was screwed.

He spent the next week and a half trying to find a job, but it was hard to do when the only clothes you owned looked like they’d been through the ringer – and they had, technically –, smell like sweat, sea salt and grass, and looked like you just walked out of the dirt. Some of the shop owners didn’t even let him in, not that he blamed them. He wouldn’t want someone who hadn’t taken a proper bath in two weeks walking around and sticking up his establishment either.

That didn’t stop him from trying. He tried and tried and tried again until he asked all shop owners he thought would even give him the time of day. There was no one left.

Then came the second week of his stay in the illustrious Republic City.

Still homeless, still yen-less, still hungry and downright _disgusting_. He was _so_ ready to find a way to return back to the Western Air Temple, even if it killed him. He was so done with dumpster diving, scrounging for food, not having proper hygiene and not having a safe place to sleep.

Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he actually _slept_. And, hell, he missed _sleeping_.

It was nearing midnight, the bottle of clean water he was able to steal during today’s busy market hour was stashed inside his jacket. He was sleeping near the docks that night, hoping to get up early enough to somehow stumble upon and convince a ship captain, or someone who at least had a boat and knew how to drive it, to take him back to the edge of the Western Air Temple islands.

He had realized as he walked towards the end of one dock, feeling the breeze kiss his cheeks, smelling the salt in the air, feeling the moon’s light against his exposed skin, that the entire reason he had left his home was to feel _this_. Feel the way the moon would silently guide him into a mediocre stance, guide him into intricate twists and turns, move as he was one with his element. He didn’t know how long he danced around the dock, laughing as water sprayed against his skin, the tension leaving his body, finally feeling like himself. All he knew was one second he was happy go lucky and the next he had a dagger pressed against his lower back with three men surrounding him.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath, slowly turning as the man behind him guided him with a greasy hand on his shoulder. Lance had seen these three a few times during his stay in Republic City; shaking down store owners, doing dealing with a few cops, stuff that he should have quickly turned away from and not wait until he thought one of them saw him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a hard clip to the back of his head, causing him to fall on all fours and a loud ringing in his ears. He groaned, pressing his forehead against the cool, wet surface of the wooden dock. He could hear muffled laughing, a raspy voice near his ear, but the ringing… 

“Le… leave me alone.” Lance groaned, pushing himself onto his knees. “I’ve… done nothing to you.”

“—work for?” The men left of the leader said. Lance furrowed his brows, shaking his head and rubbing the butt of his palms against his closed eyes. 

“W—what?”

“He asked,” the leader crouched down in front of him with a sneer, “who ya working for, kid?”

“Does it… look like I’m working for anyone?” Lance should have kept his mouth shut if a swift kick to his stomach didn’t say enough. Lance bit back a curse as he doubled over coughing and choking on air. “I’m… I’m not _working_ for anyone… I’m… stranded here.”

Another thing he shouldn’t have said. Definitely.

“So… all alone in the City? Not a soul knows your whereabouts? _Hmm_ …” The man smirked, looking down at Lance as he flipped the blade from palm to palm. He nodded to his accomplices, “Well, we can never be too careful, kid.”

Lance was being hauled to his feet by the two other men as the leader twirled the dagger and caught it in his hand one last time, a sinister smirk twitching against his lips as he regarded Lance for a final time. “Good think we got to you before another Copper did. G’Bye, kid.”

He barely registered the sharp pains in his abdomen before he was being pushed over the edge of the docks. He fell into the water with a loud splash, arms flailing to grab something as he took in a breath of water. He choked, shutting his eyes as his body jerked in pain. He forced his eyes open, trying to kick himself right as he wrapped an arm around his stomach. He couldn’t tell which way was up or down, everything was dark and red—

There were suddenly bright flashes of light from above the water, a curse and a scream and splashing. There was suddenly a lot more red in the water.

He didn’t register being pulled, didn’t register the lick of heat that brushed against his lips and cheeks or how his abdomen didn’t hurt anymore. He was no longer surrounded by red but a steely blue, almost purple. He tried to get something out, either words or more water, but he wasn’t able. He couldn’t keep his eyes open much longer, was only able to hear his savior mumble a few words in slight panic before he fell into unconsciousness.

He woke slowly and groggily, feeling the way his limbs protested to the movement and how his head screamed as him to pull the blankets of his head to block out the light. Everything was too bright and even though there was near-silence around him, it was still too loud. Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, working even harder to push onto his hands. The blanket slipping down his bare chest until it pooled around his waist. It was hard to focus his eyes; they burned and everything was still blurry from sleep. 

 _The kind of sleep you haven’t had in two weeks because you’re living on the streets_ , his mind supplemented, waking him up completely. He whipped his head around the room he was in, taking note that this was very obviously not the docks and not somewhere he even recognized. It was an open apartment, scarcely furnished and slightly worn down. He was laying on a platform bed, on a foot off the ground. Papers, folder and files were scattered to his left on the ground. Some in neatly places stacks while other were just… _there_.

A small kitchen sitting in the corner of the apartment across from him to his right, a small, worn-down green aluminum kitchen table hovered slightly off the wall next to the fridge. There was a bulletin board with pictures and names he couldn’t make out with thumbnails and different colored strings that made his eyes hurt. A door sat on the other end of the apartment, probably the entrance, and other one sat to his right. A broken dresser leaned against the wall next to the second door, a few candles – thankfully unlit – carefully placed sat atop it. There was a pile of cloths that were stained red on the floor between the bed and the dresser, yellows and blue’s that made Lance’s stomach twist in shame.

Lance noticed that besides the bulletin board and the scattered papers, the apartment was extremely bare. There were two windows to his left. They hadn’t been cleaned in months, maybe years, and were clouded from dirt and dust. A long tattered off-brown colored couch sat between the windows. A pile of blankets chucked haphazardly onto it. Lance furrowed his brows, blinking a few times as he took another sweep around the apartment before looking back at the pile of blankets. 

The cloth moved and Lance forgot how to breath, fight or flight suddenly kicked in as the memories of the night before came crashing down on him like a wave. Lance immediately tossed the blanket away, feeling up and done his stomach and chest in a panic, but there was no gauze or wounds, not even any tried blood, just a few barely visible scars from where he was stabbed.

“Holy shit.” He breathed out, shaky fingers hovering over the four discolored slivers of skin. He hesitated, his middle finger lightly skimming over the thickest one before pulling his hand away like he’d been burned. “Wh… what the—?” 

“How are you feeling?” A voice – rough and low from sleep – sounded from the couch. Lance’s head snapped up towards the man who was no longer curled under the blankets, instead sitting up with his body twisted slightly towards Lance, leaning on his right palm. His left hand was rubbing the sleep from his eye, the other focused on Lance even through the fog sleep caused him.

The first thing Lance noticed was how the man seemed to shine in the clouded room, light bouncing off his ethereal skin in a soft glow. His hair was as dark, almost black, and sticking up nearly every which way from sleep. His bangs, even skewed, framed his face nicely. And, oh, his _face_. A chin and nose that could cut glass but nice, chubby cheeks that looked perfect enough to squish. His eyebrows were thick and drawn together as he continued to rub the sleep from his eyes, and when his hand fell away his eyes appeared. Indigo and bright, outshining even the glow of his skin. They captured him in a trance, unable to do anything but hold his breath and wait to be released.

Those eyes blinked at him, brows knitting together in concern as the man kicked off the rest of the blankets.

Lance parted his lips to form a reply, instead letting out a low and extremely embarrassing whine. His savior’s lips turned into a small, tired smile, eyes closing slightly as he hummed. Lance’s face was already hot with embarrassment before he heard _that_.

“S— sorry, I—” Lance winces as he went into a coughing fit, hunching forward as he hugged his stomach. He groaned once the coughing subsided, almost letting go of his stomach to plop back down against the bed before he caught of glimpse of the water present before him. The man who has saved him sat on the edge of the bed on his knee, holding out a glass of water with furrowed brows. Up close, Lance was able to see freckles dusting against the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

He happily chugged down the water, giving him something else to do with his mouth before the words “beautiful” stumbled past his lips. Some of the water spilt from the edge of his lips, slipping down his chin and onto his chest. He regained his breath after pulling the glass away from his lips, chest heaving. The man took the glass from him, setting it on the ground near the scattered papers before looking back at him.

“How’re you feeling?” He repeated.

Lance swallowed thickly, taking a few more breaths as he ran his hands through his knotted hair before replying, “O— okay, I guess. Last night’s kinda… hazy.”

“What do you remember?” He urged, “Start from the beginning.”

Lance nodded, shoulders relaxing as his eyes swept around the apartment once again. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I… I was at one of the docks or piers, whatever, and I was waterbending… I think. Or I was just moving around and loo— looking stupid. I don’t know, honestly. But I stopped when I felt something press against my back. I… I’ve seen those guys around before—”

“They’re part of a major underground organization.” The man tilted his head away with a frown. “ _Galra_.”

“That makes sense. I’ve been seeing them doing back alley deals with cops and shake downs with some store owners. I thought… I thought I was careful. But, the one in charge kept asking who I was working for and… and…” Lance looked down at his hands with furrowed brows, “I… I told him I wasn’t working for anyone – which I’m _not_ —” 

“What do you mean you _don’t work for anyone_?” The man’s tone changed, what was once soft and patient was hard and demanding. His piercing indigo eyes narrowed at him. He hissed, “What were you doing at the docks?”

“Hoping to convince someone to take me back to the Western Air Temple in the morning.” Lance knitted his brows together, looking at Keith confused. The sudden shift in the atmosphere was disconcerting. “What’s with the third-degree, man?”

The man turned away from Lance, quickly shooting up onto his feet and letting out a string of curses. He paces around the apartment, running his hands through his hair and shooting looks at Lance before going back into a cussing rant. Lance pushed himself against the wall, fingers tightening on the sheets.

_What the hell was going on?_

“You don’t know anything do you? Do you even know what gang those men were from? Or where their next meeting is? O— or who’s in charge?” The man whirled around him, glaring down at Lance. “Do you know where Shiro is?!” 

“Du— dude, _relax_.” Lance hissed, moving to the edge of the bed and forced himself up. He hissed, an uncomfortable pain in his stomach as he stood. “I… I’m sorry but I don’t know anything about a Shiro or—” 

There was a knock on the door, echoing throughout the small apartment. Indigo eyes sent him a glare, whispering to keep his mouth shut as he padded across the apartment. He looked through the eyehole and hummed, undoing the five deadbolts on the door before cracking it open. Lance rolled his eyes and scoffed, leaning down and picking up his tattered and stained tunic. He frowned as he thumbed at the material, his heart aching at the loss of the last thing that really connected him back to his family. He sighed, his shoulders sagging from the action. A flash of blonde caught his eye from the door, a tall woman, tan woman clad in the Metalbending Police Force uniform Lance had seen dominating around the city. She was thin yet muscular, two long, thick blonde braids fell over her shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing violet, ones that shook him to the core and looked oddly familiar. Her lips were thin and her smile was sharp. 

“Detective Kogane.” She regarded the man – _Keith_ – with a smile. Lance took notice that she was a head taller than Keith. Keith nodded back, stepping to the side and letting her into the apartment. 

“ _Oh_!” Her eyes fell on Lance’s naked torso, a small blush settling on the apples of her cheek as she averted her eyes back to Keith. “I hadn’t realized you had company. I don’t mind coming back later?”

Keith shook his head, locking only one of the deadbolts while ruffling his hair into some semblance of its normal style. While doing so Lance took note of the length of his hair and nearly laughed.

A mullet. Because of fucking course.

“Did everything go as planned last night?” Her eyes moved back to Lance with a knowing smile. “Or did you get sidetracked?” 

Keith groaned, “Nyma, seriously—”

“Okay, okay.” She smiled at Keith, raising her hands in mock surrender. She looked at Lance from the corner of her eye and he ignored how that sent unwelcomed chills down his spin. His hair stood on edge. Something was… strange about this officer. But everything was strange about this situation. Lance absently picked at the pieces of dried blood – his dried blood, he quickly noted holding down bile – as he eavesdropped on Keith and Nyma.

“No one was at the docks.” Keith made his way into the kitchen, Nyma staying where she was, purposefully keeping an eye on both men. “This… ‘Alternate’ or whatever you sent me to pick up wasn’t there.”

“ _Altean_.” Nyma corrected him, crossing her long arms and looking over at Lance as he hesitantly walked past Nyma and towards the kitchen. He didn’t feel safe in his own little corner, away from the only person he – somehow – trusted. “And who’s this guy?” 

Keith picked his head out of the fridge and looked Lance up and down, meeting his eye. Lance kept his gaze on Keith, fingers digging into his biceps as the conversation replayed in his brain. Keith said no one was at the docks – Lance _was_ at the docks. But he wasn’t this ‘Altean’ whatever, so what was Keith supposed to say?

Keith looked over his shoulder at Nyma, voice clipped, “Doesn’t matter.”

Lance swallowed thickly, his eyes meeting the cold violet of Nyma’s as Keith went back to rummaging through his fridge. He stood straight once he pulled out a carton of apple juice.

“Since the Altean didn’t show up, now what?” Keith asked, opening the carton and taking a sip. Lance’s nose wrinkled in disgust, glancing between Keith and the juice. His disgust went unnoticed between the two officers.

Nyma sighed, cocking her hip to the side as she turned away from them, moving deeper into the apartment, “I’ll try and set up another meeting with them. I don’t know how long it will take.”

“Do it.” Keith said, offering the carton to Lance, almost like a reflex. Lance took it and only drank it because he was still thirsty. His throat still burned. Apple juice didn’t help, he noted as he nearly choked on the drink. Keith took back the carton and set it on the counter, heading towards the door where Nyma stood. 

“Let me know when and where you set up the next meeting.” Keith said, unlocking the one bolt he locked and opening the door.

Nyma nodded, pulling off a pair of keys from her belt. “Until then, duty calls. Later, Keith.” She looked towards Lance, lips curling into a playful smile that looked more menacing than calming, all teeth that looked sharper than they really were. Lance froze in his spot, taking in Nyma’s posture and appearance, the way she cocked her hip, the way she twirled the keys around her finger, the way she held herself— holy _shit_ — this is one of the officers—

“I hope I’ll see you around more ‘doesn’t matter’.” She giggled with a wave before leaving the apartment, Keith going down the row of locks before looking through the eyehole. Lance stumbled back, hitting the edge of the kitchen table and one of the chairs before finding his way to the couch. Lance’s fingers dug into the surface of the couch, his eyes trained on the back of Keith as his replayed every moment he saw with a cop the past two weeks. His breath quickened as Keith stood slowly, looking over his shoulder at Lance with careful calculation.

Keith’s eyes pulled him into a trance again, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull himself out until it was too late.

“You recognize her, don’t you?” He asked quietly. 

Lance could only nod.

“She’s one of them?”

Another nod.

Keith turned his head back towards the door, breathing out a ‘ _God damnit_ ’ as he knocked his forehead against the door.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: asexualallura


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